Combat Alley (2007) (28 page)

Those inconsistencies are a sure sign there is lying being done by both men, Leighton said. But we have some great leverage to bring them down since if we send them back to Russia they'll be shot for those long-ago crimes. The only problem is that we're in a bit of a rush now, so it will take too much time to concentrate on both men. We'll have to choose one to lean on.

Well, Andy said, keep in mind that Yarkov was the head man while Tchaikurov was only a barracks boss and an enforcer.

Right, Leighton agreed. He sat in silent thought for the next few minutes as he turned the situation over in his mind. When he reached a conclusion, he put his feet down on the floor and turned in the chair to face Andy. Okay! You'll concentrate on Yarkov. Here's what you're going to do.

Andy leaned forward as Leighton began giving his instructions.

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INTERROGATION ROOM

0900 HOURS

YARKOV sat in the chair, sweat glistening on his forehead, as he faced Andy Malachenko. Andy had his cap pushed back on his head, and he had turned the chair around. He sat in it, leaning against the back as he pointed a finger straight at the prisoner.

You're a convicted murderer, Yarkov! If the United States returns you to Russia, some of your comrades are going to drag you to the nearest wall and shoot you! We also know you have committed crimes against the Pashtun people by raiding their territory and even stealing their women. Hell! You know damn well that I have seen them in your town. And many have been made pregnant by you guys. The Afghans may request that we turn you over to them instead of the Russians. What would happen to an infidel in an Islamic court, Yarkov? What kind of mercy would you get from them if convicted of kidnapping and raping Muslim women?

Yarkov's face went pale.

And we know you are up to your eyeballs in dealing opium poppies to the Taliban, Andy continued. All the facts add up to that. One of the biggest and best financed buyers of the crops is the Taliban, who are financed by al-Qaeda and probably Syria and Iran too. Thus it is obvious they are the customers of the crime syndicate because they will pay the most money.

Wait a minute! Yarkov cried. I have no say in who buys the opium.

We have been informed by certain Pashtun tribal leaders that you yourself offered one and a half times the usual price for the crop. I would say that shows you are well financed and directed by the Khorugh crime syndicate. You are one of their lapdogs, Yarkov, and you knew you would be dealing with the Taliban.

I know nothing of any deals with the Taliban! Yarkov protested. The crop was to be sold by Akloschenko. We were never sure who he would sell to. He kept that information to himself. Maybe Marvesky knew about it.

I do not believe you, Andy insisted. It does not add up if you were offering the Pashtuns money for next season's poppies.

It was not my money!

You are lying!

Andy paused a bit to let all the accusations sink into Yarkov's mind. Leighton had explained that the Russian's emotions were going to be swirling at this point, and he would want to reveal the truth. But he needed a good rationalization to do it. Even if he was scared shitless, he was soldier enough not to want to show fear until he absolutely had to. Now was the time for Andy to give the former warrant officer the proper motive to give up all he knew.

Andy got to his feet and leaned across the table. You are under the command and control of the United States Armed Forces, Yarkov! You are subject to that military discipline! And I am an officer in the United States Navy who outranks you! I order you to tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth! As a soldier you have no choice but to obey me!

Yarkov's military side came out and he leaped to his feet and saluted. Yes, sir! I will tell you anything you need to know!

Good, Andy said calmly. He walked to the door and opened it, gesturing to the guard who stood out in the hallway. Bring Mr. Leighton and a stenographer in here.

Chapter 20

USS COMBS

SFOB BRIEFING ROOM

THANKSGIVING DAY

1230 HOURS

THE tension in the steel compartment was so thick it could have been cut with the proverbial knife. This was the first time that the men sitting on the theater-like seats had ever been in this inner sanctum of Brigadier General Gregory Leroux. The fact they were there foretold matters of the utmost importance in the offing. The other times they had audiences with the general, it had been in front of his desk in his small office. There he had expressed curiosity, praise, criticism, and commentary replete with expletives in a roaring voice. Those sessions were experiences not to be forgotten.

Commander Thomas Carey, Lieutenant Commander Ernest Berringer, Lieutenant William Brannigan, Lieutenant (JG) Jim Cruiser, and Ensign Orlando Taylor maintained a nervous silence among themselves as they sat waiting for the Great Man to appear. The quintet of navy officers glanced at the large map of the OA to their direct front, noting that it was bare of markings and designations usually found on tactical charts. Whatever was coming up was brand-new and completely unexpected.

The door to the compartment opened and the familiar bellowing of Leroux's voice blasted into the interior like the detonation of an 81-millimeter mortar round. Keep your seats! He walked directly up to the front of the audience, grabbing a podium near the bulkhead. He dragged it to a convenient position that allowed him to face the five officers.

Happy Thanksgiving, he said. Nice to see you again. He opened a portfolio he had brought with him, perusing a document inside while continuing to speak. By the way, that was a hell of a fine job by that guy Malachenko. The information he brought back from the little sojourn as well as his participation in the interrogation of those Russians started the boys in G-2 to filling in a hell of a lot of holes in their own files. I take it he has returned to you.

Yes, sir, Brannigan said. He returned late last night by the same chopper that hauled us over here. He came in with one of our wounded men who was returned to duty. So we are back to full strength.

Good, Leroux said. Now he looked at them with a satisfied, almost smug expression. Big stuff going down, yes-siree-bob! We now know the truth about what was behind the rather puzzling order to not interfere with the Pashtuns' poppy harvest next year. It was not I say again was not because of a lack of funding for the Afghanistan police to control the activity. As a matter of fact, the enforcement detail had plenty of money. But a certain individual issued specific instructions to allow the crop to be grown and gathered without interference. That man was a government official by the name of Zaid Aburrani.

Wait a minute! Brannigan exclaimed. That name is familiar.

As well it should be, Leroux said. You know him from your outfit's very first operation in Afghanistan. You were supposed to pick up a defector, as I recall.

Yes, sir, Brannigan replied. But the situation deteriorated rapidly once we were on the ground. This was mainly caused by the fact that the defector had been compromised and eliminated.

A bad case of SNAFU, the general commented. At any rate, this Aburrani was the special envoy who joined you after the defeat of the two warlords. He was supposed to be acting as a go-between for the Coalition Forces and the native peoples of the area. It is now known he was profiting a great deal from the opium trade. This fact popped up unexpectedly when the information provided by the two Russian defectors was combined with known intelligence by our intrepid intraservice staff. Those clever boys put two and two together and came with a solid irrefutable conclusion, i. E., Aburrani is in cahoots not only with that Russian crime syndicate in Tajikistan but also with the Taliban. The profits from the coming harvest were to go to only one source: the terrorists.

What about Aburrani? Berringer asked. What's his status now?

Even as we speak, our friend Aburrani is in the hot seat, Leroux replied. He had been named in a warrant issued by our government to the Afghanistan authorities. However, because of certain hypersensitive aspects of the case, the Afghans don't want to participate in the apprehension of the gentleman in question. However, they will make no overt response to his arrest by any Coalition Forces. He grinned. That's somewhat of an understatement, as I'm sure you realize.

Is that the only action going to be taken in regard to this incident? Brannigan asked.

No way, Leroux said with firm assurance. I have been put in command of a two-pronged effort. The first thing we must do is pacify the hostile Pashtun tribesmen on the Pranistay Steppes.

Young Ensign Orlando Taylor sat up straighter with excitement. What's the other prong, sir?

Oh, something right up the Brigands' alley, Leroux said. How does an illegal attack to wipe out the Russian town in the Kangal Mountains of Tajikistan sound to you?

Most interesting, Orlando said.

I'm sure it will be, Leroux said. He looked at Brannigan. Give me a quick oral SITREP, Lieutenant.

I have twenty-three SEALs under my command, Brannigan reported. We are at full strength, including horses, well supplied with all requisitions filled at the moment. Our present resupply situation is good enough that we can bring in any additional necessities quickly. I also can muster a hundred and thirty fighting men of the Yousafzai Tribe and eighty-five from the Janoon Tribe. That gives me a total of Two hundred and thirty men, young Taylor interjected quickly. The bad guys on the steppes have a total of three hundred and forty men belonging to four tribes.

Leroux actually gave the ensign a fond smile. Ah, yes! There is nothing better than the keen participation of an eager young subaltern.

Thank you, sir, Taylor said, pleased.

Alright! Leroux said. Brannigan, I want you to organize your entire force of natives and SEALs, then produce an OPLAN to be submitted to me through Commander Carey. Your mission will be as I already stated, i. E., pacify the bad Pashtuns out on the steppes. I might add that you are authorized to use extreme prejudice in accomplishing that goal.

What about that Russian town, sir? Cruiser asked.

That is a separate action and will not be undertaken until the Pranistay Steppes are a hundred percent contained, Leroux replied, pawing through his papers until he found the notes on Logovishchyeh. Okay. The place you're talking about is called He studied the word in the document. shit! It's a long fucking name. There must be a Russki law that none of the words in their language are allowed to be under fourteen syllables. Anyhow! The place is occupied by approximately a hundred former Russian military convicts. When you're finished with the steppes, draw up an OPLAN to remove that thorn in our sides.

I'll have a fine asset in Petty Officer Malachenko, sir, Brannigan said. He knows the area well.

Right, Leroux said. You are now aware of what the preliminaries are, so don't waste time. He slammed the portfolio shut, saying, I am inviting you to join me in a Thanksgiving feast aboard the Combs in a couple of hours.

Messieurs Brannigan, Cruiser, and Taylor declined with thanks.

Leroux understood where they were coming from. It would be a hard thing to do knowing your men were sitting out there in the cold chomping on MREs while you're chowing down on a traditional meal, huh? Well, I have good news for you officers and your guys. A mess crew with thermal cans of turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy, and the whole nine yards will accompany you on the chopper back to your OA. Happy Thanksgiving!

We thank the general, Brannigan said gratefully.

As well you should, Leroux said. The chopper and chow are waiting for you on that flat area on the back of the ship.

That's the aft end of the main deck, sir, Ensign Orlando Taylor informed him. It's called the fantail.

I almost give a shit, Leroux growled.

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SEALs BIVOUAC

1700 HOURS

THE thermal mess cans were empty. The Brigands, along with three chopper crewmen and the mess cooks, had just consumed the last of the pumpkin pie, completely depleting the entire amount of chow brought in for the holiday. The cooks were packing up with the help from a quartet of SEALs, as the festivities ground down to a satisfactory conclusion.

The only thing missing was a football game to watch before and after chow, Bruno Puglisi remarked.

Brannigan was standing off to the side with Dirk Wallenger and his cameraman, Eddie Krafton, watching the men pack up. The Skipper turned his attention to the newsmen. By the way, before it slips my mind, I wanted to tell you that I stumbled across an interesting human interest story over at Shelor Field while I was gone. I even got a clearance for you to talk to the individual concerned.